Landslide
by CoutureWriting
Summary: "This must be some sort of illusion." Nölana woke with a start, sitting up suddenly. There was a groan and she turned to see the man's eyes feebly open. Surprise and pleasure pulled at her. She had saved him. He was alive. "There is no illusion at work here," she insisted. "I must be seeing Orcs as women now," he continued, his eyes unsteady. "I am no Orc," she spat. Boromir/OC


**This is just an idea I've been playing around with for a while. Thought it could turn out interesting. **

**Anyway, in this version, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli leave Boromir rather than placing him the funeral boat. Which is lucky because Nölana, a Dúnadan and Ranger from the North, happens upon him and finds that he is barely alive. Using her skills as a healer she attempts to heal him and return him to his company. **

**Basically, it's a very loose version of events, but I am totally open to suggestions. In fact, I want them. Let me know what direction you think the story should be going by review or PM. **

**Apart from that, enjoy.**

* * *

Nölana came upon the bodies very suddenly. She spied the black shapes on the ground, the Uruk-hai who had fallen and knelt to one of them. The bodies were fresh, not even an hour old. The work of a sword had taken the one she touched.

She straightened and headed downhill, in search of the Uruk-hai's enemy, its opponent. The bodies were many, she was surprised to note, but they had not all been killed. The Uruks she had been tracking had been stronger in numbers than this.

And then she saw.

She moved as fast as her legs could take her and fell to her knees beside the body. He was a man, great and strong. She touched his hand. Still warm. Her pale, slender fingers moved to his neck and rested there. A faint, feeble pulse fluttered under her fingers. She gasped.

"And in the midst of death there is life," she murmured to herself.

She moved quickly, reaching to her satchel, pulling from it a small glass vial and a handful of blood-red leaves. Working swiftly, she cut away his tunic with her dagger, so that the four arrows were exposed to her. She sucked in breath and shook her head, her hood falling about her shoulders, exposing a head of night-black hair.

"_My soldier, what have you been through?_" she murmured to him in Elvish. She took her dagger and wiped it with the blood leaves, and then moved to work on removing the arrows from him.

It was painstaking work and she did not yet know if it would all be for nothing. As she removed each arrow she wiped the sticky fluid from the vial on the wound and layered the blood leaves upon it, fastening it with shreds of her own shirt. Finally, when the last arrow was pulled from him, she breathed a sigh of relief. His pulse still flickered, but his forehead was growing hot. The arrows were only the beginning; the fever that now took him was just as dangerous.

With a short low whistle, her mount, Ísi came galloping down the hillside. She was a fine, strong mare, pure white and stubborn. She trotted forward and lowered her head to Nölana, who rubbed her nose tenderly.

"_We must get him out of here_," she whispered to the mare, her Elvish calming the nervous animal, who snickered.

Then the mare knelt before Nölana and came to rest on the forest floor.

Nölana redressed the man as best she could and wiped his hair from his hot forehead. She struggled quietly but eventually pulled him over to Ísi who whinnied but did not protest. She managed to arrange the man in the saddle, and then moved in behind him.

With a great effort the mare rose and reared slightly.

"_Go, my light, may the wind carry you_," she cried.

With a great bray the mare reared once again and then galloped away from the woods, the bodies and the blood.

* * *

"We must rest," Nölana whispered, rubbing the mare's great neck as the sun slid entirely out of view. She had been riding for hours. "This man needs rest. Do you see safety nearby?"

They were on the wide, sweeping plains. There was no shelter to be seen for miles, but Ísi whickered turned to the great mounds of raised rock in the earth. The horse trotted around the huge rock until she came to stop before a jutting lip hidden from view. The space would be just big enough for Nölana and her company.

"_You outdo yourself, my white queen_," she told the animal incredulously. She leapt from the saddle and managed not to be crushed by the weight of the man as he slid down from the saddle. She dragged him to the small hole and laid him to rest against the rock, wrapping him in his cloak as she did so. She placed her own satchel beneath his head and then removed Ísi's bridle carefully.

As she returned to the man, she took a few moments to take a good look at him. He looked Gondorian, though very different from the Ranger men she had grown up with. There was some aristocracy, some nobility in his face, but she couldn't be sure.

She laid a hand to his head again. The temperature had worsened considerably and for the first time, Nölana had to entertain the idea that she may have to wait the fever out, if this man survived at all.

He twitched in his state, and she wondered what terrible visions he saw. Every now and then he cried out, as he had when they were riding, and she did her best to soothe him.

"_My brother, leave this waste behind,_

_Beat within me, I'll be your eyes,_

_My brother, you will have peace,_

_You were searching for release."_

As she sang, his breathing deepened and the twitching stopped, though she knew pretty words would only keep the fever at bay for so long. She stroked his forehead slightly as she pulled her cloak around her. She moved in beside him, grateful in part for the heat of the fever to keep her warmer than she had been in many months.

* * *

She was woken by Ísi nuzzling against her leg. Nölana gave the animal a rub and got to her feet wearily. Her bones ached as she stretched and then turned to her fellow. There was sweat on his brow and his lips moved wordlessly in delirium. Nölana knelt before him and set about pulling his shirt away. Pulling away the dressings, she saw that the wounds looked better due to the blood leaves, but new, dangerous signs of infection wept before her. His torso was bruised black and purple. She touched it gently and he flinched.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled from her satchel a skin of strong Dwarfish spirits that had been given to her as a gift. She poured a little on his wounds and he thrashed so violently she took pity on him. After sterilizing the wounds and attempting to kill the infection she placed new blood leaves across his torso and redressed him.

Deciding against staying in the rockside, she managed to have him remount and leapt into the saddle behind him as his head fell forward against the mare's mane as it had the day before.

Nölana urged the mare forward into a steady gallop.

* * *

Days passed in this routine, as the man's wounds steadily improved, to Nölana's relief. But his fever only worsened. It had been more than eight nights since she had found him.

Her insistence had driven her to continue riding through his fever, but she was now forced to stop as his thrashing in the saddle grew ever more violent.

She managed to settle him as she stroked his forehead gently and whispered to him songs of old. Deep in her stomach she knew that the breaking of the fever would either cure him or kill him and that he was on the very brink of either.

"_Hush, soldier_," she whispered to him, her Elvish rolling off the tongue gently.

He quieted, but she knew the battle raged on within him. She pulled her cloak around herself and tucked herself close to him.

* * *

"This must be some sort of illusion."

Nölana woke with a start, sitting up suddenly. There was a groan and she turned to see the man's eyes feebly open. Surprise and pleasure pulled at her heart. She had saved him. He was alive.

"There is no illusion at work here," she insisted.

"I must be seeing Orcs as women now," he continued, his eyes unsteady.

"I am no Orc," she spat. "I am Nölana, daughter of Ileyn and a Ranger from the North. And who are you?"

"Boromir, son of Denethor," he managed to mutter. "Steward-prince of Gondor."

Nölana started in surprise.

"And it appears I owe you my life."

Nölana snorted. "If that be your wish. Now let me see these wounds, Boromir, son of Denethor," she said mockingly.

She removed his shirt once again and pulled away the withered blood leaves. His wounds were nearly healed, but still an angry, vicious red. The infection had cleared up, and his bruises now turned yellow.

She clicked her tongue. "Much better."

"Very neat," he murmured. "Did remove the arrows yourself?"

She rolled her eyes. "Who else do you think did it? Ents?"

"How long have I been out?" he asked, struggling to sit up. She was pleased to find that he could support himself. She touched a pale, cool hand to his forehead and was impressed to find that all traces of the fever were gone.

"Ten days," she told him. "I'm impressed. In fact, I'm impressed that you survived at all."

"Where is my company?"

She raised her eyebrows and gave a nonchalant shrug. "You were alone when I found you. They must have believed you dead. You were dead for all intents and purposes. You would not have survived if not for the blood leaves."

"And where are we?" he asked her.

"In Rohan," she told him. "I am on my way to seek shelter with the King, if he will have me."

"Rohan," Boromir breathed. "But how did you ride with me?"

She smiled. "With great difficulty. Ísi is not like other horses, she is stronger and faster, but even you have tired her. We need shelter and rest. Can you stand?"

She offered him a hand but he waved it away and got to his feet steadily. Again, she was impressed.

"You are full of surprises, Steward-prince," she told him. She whistled and Ísi bolted towards them with a gentle whicker.

He smiled weakly and she gestured to the mare. "You will ride. Now that you can hold yourself there is no need for two to ride."

Boromir frowned at this but did not protest. He hoisted himself into the saddle.

As they walked, Nölana continued to rub her mare's neck to reassure her.

* * *

They passed through Rohan slowly, and part of Nölana was desperate for speed; for news from anywhere and the other part was glad for the recovery of Ísi, and her new charge, Boromir.

As they walked, he tried several times to engage her in conversation, but her answers were short and sharp as her mind wandered elsewhere. He slept as he rode, his face falling into the mare's mane, but he kept his grip and she found it easier when he was not persistently asking questions about her.

They came upon Edoras, and Nölana was able to breathe a sigh of relief. She led her mare steadily up the great hill to the fortress. It was there that they happened upon Gandalf and the King.

It was Gandalf who spied her first. She dropped Ísi's reins and bolted up the road as fast as her legs could carry her. When she reached them, she knelt before them.

"King Théoden," she murmured, lowering her head.

"Daughter of the North," he said, astounded, as she got to her feet and moved forward to embrace Gandalf.

"Nölana," he murmured.

"It has been too long," she said, smiling up at him. "I see you are a White Wizard now, my friend."

He smiled sagely at her, as his gaze travelled past her to the slumped figure astride Ísi.

"But who rides with you?"

Nölana glanced at him and back to the wizard. "On my travels I happened across Boromir, son of Denethor, taken down by four arrows."

Gandalf's eyes widened. "Aragorn told me that he fell."

She bowed her head. "So it seemed. I managed to heal him. The fever followed the wounds, but he managed to overcome it. Now he is simply weakened."

As Ísi reached her, she rubbed the mare's nose fondly. With a gentle shake, she managed to rouse Boromir, whose eyes widened as they met Gandalf's. He slid from the mare and embraced the wizard.

"I thought you were dead. I saw you fall… the Balrog…"

"As I thought of you," Gandalf replied with a smile. "It appears we were both mistaken."

"Son of Gondor," the King greeted Boromir.

"King Théoden."

"Come, you must come to the hall. You must be hungry, and tired," said Théoden.

"Both," Nölana agreed readily.

They reached Meduseld and upon entering, Nölana was startled to see Aragorn sitting in the hall with a fair, blonde Elf and a Dwarf. He turned as they entered and she saw her look of surprise reflected on his face.

"Nöla?" he laughed, getting to his feet.

They embraced tightly and he took a step back from her, and then spied who stood behind her.

"It cannot be…" he murmured.

He embraced Boromir. "You were dead, my friend."

Boromir smiled weakly. "It would appear I was not totally so. This woman saved my life, caring for my wounds and carrying me here while a fire burned within me. I owe her my life."

"You have always been a skilled healer," he told Nölana as she smiled appreciatively.

"My King! We have found two riders, two children, in the plain. They say their village has been burned!" one of the King's men cried as he strode into the Hall.


End file.
